


Hunger in His Eyes

by jupiterexile



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Belly Kink, Feeding, M/M, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 10:54:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4703438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jupiterexile/pseuds/jupiterexile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam doesn’t say anything as he watches Dean consume roughly twice what Sam eats at every meal, bottling his anticipatory feelings inside and shoving away any question of why he likes this so much. Dean cocks an eyebrow at him, almost daring him to say something, but he keeps his mouth shut.</p><p>Soon, Sam has a lot of new territory to explore. Even Dean’s old scars feel softer under his fingertips, and there are new scars—stretch marks—to trace. They fan out like sunbursts across his sides, standing out shiny and new.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hunger in His Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt at spnkink-meme: http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/98383.html?thread=38054479#t38054479  
> "The boys more or less quit hunting and settle in the bunker. Dean gets to practice his culinary skills, mostly on himself, and coupled with his newly sedentary routine he gains a bunch of weight."

It starts slowly.

Sam’s got his lips wrapped around Dean’s cock, taking him all the way down, leaving his hands free to roam over Dean’s body. His fingers ghost over a nipple and he’s got more flesh to roll between his fingers than he has for the past ten or more years.

The next time Sam notices, he’s blowing Dean—again—but this time he’s on his knees, and when he looks up to meet Dean’s eyes it’s over a slight curve in Dean’s stomach. He runs a hand up, spreading his fingers wide to feel the softness and just that is enough to have him creaming his pants like they’re teenagers again.

*

Ever since they locked away The Darkness, restored order with Death and his minions, and finally claimed the bunker as home—not just home base—Dean’s been spending a lot of time in the kitchen. Apparently preparing tacos and tamales for Death reawakened his interest in cooking, so Sam’s utterly unsurprised by the appearance of brand-new cookware and various cooking magazines around the kitchen. He shrugs, glad Dean’s obsessing over something other than the lack of calls coming in from other hunters. They haven’t completely retired from hunting, but there’s a lot less to go after these days and Sam’s happy to hand the job over to someone else, stepping in only to provide assistance when needed.

At this point in his life he’s content just to exist peacefully, so much the better that it’s with Dean at his side.

*

These days, Sam runs just because he enjoys it, running longer distances than he ever did under their dad’s watchful eye, knowing he won’t be forced into weight training or sparring as soon as he finishes. Sam’s always loved to run, the breeze blowing through his hair and drying the sweat on his skin, so lately he’s been going further and further, lost in his head for close to two hours some days.

One gorgeous day he spends time reading in the nearby abandoned park in addition to his run, gone for nearly four hours when he finally returns to the bunker. He passes by the kitchen on his way to the shower, ready to make a jab at seeing Dean slumped over the table, an array of empty dishes in front of him, when he catches sight of Dean’s stomach straining against his white t-shirt. The words are stolen from his mouth as a sudden bolt of arousal shocks through him, so he silently turns and makes for the shower as fast as he can, nearly tripping over himself in his haste to strip. As soon as he’s safe under the spray he grips his rock-hard cock, coming faster than he can ever remember under his own force.

That night, Sam is particularly gentle as he fucks Dean, despite Dean’s protests for the opposite. He comes long and slow inside Dean, fingers trailing over his sides and stomach as Sam rocks down, painting patterns on Dean’s skin with his own come.

Afterward, Sam refuses to examine his actions of the day too closely.

*

Sam doesn’t say anything as he watches Dean consume roughly twice what Sam eats at every meal, bottling his anticipatory feelings inside and shoving away any question of why he likes this so much. Dean cocks an eyebrow at him, almost daring him to say something, but he keeps his mouth shut.

Soon, Sam has a lot of new territory to explore. Even Dean’s old scars feel softer under his fingertips, and there are new scars—stretch marks—to trace. They fan out like sunbursts across his sides, standing out shiny and new.

Sam feels Dean’s dick against his own, hard and leaking, and he can’t help rutting down into Dean, glorious friction against his hard length and soft skin. He braces himself with palms flat on either side of Dean’s ribs, thrusting roughly. Dean rocks with him, one hand wound into Sam’s hair, the other squeezing the top of his shoulder as they come together, exploding across their stomachs in a spray of white.

Sam rubs over Dean’s belly after they’ve cleaned up, gently pushing at the new pudge. Dean half-heartedly whacks him on the shoulder, but he doesn’t stop, and they fall asleep with one of Sam’s hands curled protectively under the swell of his stomach.

*

“How far are you gonna take this?” Sam asks Dean one day as he’s standing over an enormous pot of chili, hooking his chin over Dean’s shoulder.

“Gerroff, Sasquatch,” Dean waves the spoon at him, the movement causing Dean’s shirt to ride up over the bulge of his stomach. Sam’s eyes drop to the exposed skin and Dean tugs the shirt down to cover it. Sam’s reminded of them as teenagers again, Dean constantly tugging Sam’s shirts down as he shot up like a weed, telling Sam he needed to quit walking around half-exposed like that. He stills Dean with a hand on his wrist.

“Leave it. If you want to,” he adds. Dean arches an eyebrow and Sam shrugs.

Dean leaves the shirt on while Sam fucks him that night, the movement of Sam’s pounding the only thing to ruck it up to his ribs. Sam watches Dean’s belly with a hunger like Dean hasn’t ever seen, and it both scares him and turns him on more than ever.

*

The next time Sam blows Dean, his nose touches Dean’s stomach before he has all of Dean’s cock in his mouth.

*

Things start appearing in the kitchen: new spices, fresh cheeses, gourmet oils. Sam can’t possibly be dumb enough to think Dean hasn’t noticed that they tend to pop up after Sam’s gone out shopping, or when he’s smuggling in tiny, prettily decorated boxes from the post office. Still, Sam doesn’t confess anything and Dean doesn’t verbalize his thank yous. They’re painted under his skin.

*

Within a year, Dean’s doubled his body weight. The bow of his legs is disguised by fat now, his cheeks and chin fuller, his stomach round and soft over his hips, and neither of them want to stop it. Dean’s nearly sized out of the jeans he bought a month ago, already walking around with the fly undone and no boxers, tempting Sam to reach under his belly and play with his dick.

Dean rarely leaves the bunker anymore, spending his days alternately in the kitchen and library, helping Sam digitize the old Men of Letters files. The “dead guy robes,” as Sam calls them, prove mighty useful instead of constantly shopping for new clothes. He takes to walking around wearing nothing but the robes, stomach jutting proudly ahead of him as the robes fall open to his sides. 

*

Sam begs for Dean’s fingers, thicker than they’ve ever been. Dean does him one better and spends an hour working him open to the point where Sam’s begging for Dean’s dick, but Dean folds his thumb in alongside his four fingers and pushes forward on a deep breath. When he gets to his broad knuckles Sam howls, but Dean manages to push past the resistance and sink his hand inside Sam to the wrist. 

“Oh fuck, Dean, fuck, so good,” Sam pants as Dean uncurls and curls his fingers inside Sam. He watches Sam’s rim, stretched bloodless and lube-shiny around his thick wrist, as he gently thrusts in and out, rocking Sam to an explosive orgasm. Sam shudders underneath him, pressing his face hard to the pillow when Dean pulls out his hand and strips his dick, coming over Sam’s gaping hole.

*

One day, Dean looks in the mirror and realizes he can’t see his dick. He spends a minute cataloguing the changes in his body, smoothing over his double chin and the swell of his shoulders and arms. He hefts his belly to expose his dick, hard with arousal and begging to be played with. He lets go of his stomach, relishing the feel of the weight against the head of his cock, stroking the shaft slowly. When he comes, he shudders over the sink, knees weak as he paints the underside of his belly with his own come. 

*

Sam fucks hard into Dean from behind, his belly swinging low enough to brush the bed in time with Sam’s thrusts. After Sam comes, Dean rolls over and sits up, his pecs hanging soft over the mound of his gut, massive arms forced to his sides. His spent dick twitches, trapped in the cage of his thighs and his stomach and he groans. 

“More?” Sam asks with a gleam in his eye. Dean glares at him, but Sam’s already wiggling a hand between the layers of fat to grab for his dick, the other smoothing over the crease where his navel has sunk in deep, and Dean’s a goner.

*

Dean spends his 40th birthday in bed. He’s gotten to the point where getting up is a struggle, so he spends most of his time in his bedroom. Sam’s taken up the mantle of cook under Dean’s careful eye, and brings Dean meals fit for a king. Today in particular, he’s surrounded by pancakes, bacon, eggs, sausage, and of course, Sam. 

Sam runs a sausage through a river of maple syrup and holds it to Dean’s lips, letting Dean lick his fingers clean after he eats the sausage. He runs his fingers over Dean’s lips, down his throat, all the way to his dick and balls, looking tiny against the the mountainous rolls of Dean’s stomach. He’s hard—pretty much constantly, he tells Sam—despite already coming twice today. Sam pushes at Dean’s belly—“Hold it,” he orders Dean—and maneuvers himself over Dean’s lap, lowering himself onto Dean’s dick. He braces himself with a hand on each of Dean’s massive thighs and thrusts backwards. Both of them groan as Sam backs up against Dean’s gut, the weight warm against his back. It doesn’t take long for Dean to come inside Sam, leaving Sam panting as he crawls around to face Dean. He’s got his cock in hand, stroking slowly but deliberately, and comes on a silent shout over Dean’s belly.

When he recovers, he swipes a finger through his come and offers it to Dean, eyes lighting up as he eagerly licks it off. “God, you’ll eat anything, won’t you? Fucking desperate for it.”

“Just for you, Sammy.” Dean’s smirk hasn’t changed a bit, even behind the roundness of his face. Sam gives him a look and slips off the bed, getting his hands under Dean to turn him onto his side. Dean’s belly spills onto the mattress, pooling in a huge mound in front of him, and Sam can’t help giving it a gentle caress. He runs his hand over the hill and valleys of Dean’s side, fitting his fingers neatly into Dean’s crack to ghost over his hole.

“Haven’t had this in a while, Dean. You want to get fucked?” Sam’s voice is rough, dark with desire, and Dean can only nod. Sam’s fingers disappear, only to come back slick with lube, and he uses one hand to open Dean’s crack so the can thrust in. He doesn’t go fast, just strokes gently with two fingers. Dean starts to protest when he realizes what Sam’s doing, but keeps his mouth shut as Sam unerringly massages over his prostate, building a low buzz of arousal in his veins. Sam continues his efforts, slowly working Dean up to his fourth orgasm, this one the sweetest torture of all as Sam simply presses into him over and over. His cock spurts weakly, drained of nearly everything his body had to offer, but Sam smiles anyway as he flops down in front of Dean.

“Come on, Dean. You’ve got more to eat here.”


End file.
